


To Keep On Living

by Tealightful



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (sarcastic but hes working on it), Angst, Broken Families, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Gaslighting, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Minor Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Dream SMP Ensemble Characters, Panic Attacks, Philza's A+ parenting, Post-Exile Arc, Redemption, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Improvement, Spirit!Wilbur, Suicidal Thoughts, Technoblade redemption, Wilbur Soot Redemption, Wilbur Soot-centric, no one is perfect on this server, sbi as family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tealightful/pseuds/Tealightful
Summary: In which Ghostbur is presented a double sided blade: the opportunity for life, and the pain of existence, and learns to wield it, while piecing his memory, family, and country back together. Oh, and kicking Dream's ass in the process.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106





	1. This Tragic Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings at the end. If you have triggers, whether included in the additional tags or not, please skip to the end and read them over. I can provide chapter summaries in the comments if needed, just ask!

Ghostbur remembers a lot more than he lets on. He remembers Schlatt, but only in two brief flashes: touring his first house together, and seeing him again for the first time in months at the election rally. The Blue took the rest, just as it took the last two months of his life, save for the moment when he destroyed his greatest work.

He stood in front of the button, humming the tune whose meaning had evolved. The screaming outside sparked a flame of bravery, and he knew then, that he would press it. Seeing Philza in the doorway after years of him being gone, a bit of anger but mostly relief that he wouldn’t die alone. Exorcising the speech he had rehearsed in his head over and over, finally been _seen_ and _understood_. The sizzle. The heat. The deafening boom, and heat of ashes cooling on his skin.

He doesn’t remember the look in Philza’s eyes when he saw Wilbur’s work. He does remember what it felt like to die.

It felt like a choice. It doesn’t feel like a choice anymore.

* * *

“If someone gave me one of their lives, I could probably be alive again,” he says.

Tommy looks up from the crafting bench in his house. “Really?” he says, “How would you do it?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to ask Dream. He knows lots of things.”

“Dream doesn’t know shit.”

Right. Tommy doesn’t like Dream. Ghostbur can be forgetful, probably because of the Blue.

He pivots the subject. “I don’t think I want to be alive again.”

“Yeah?”

“No one likes Alivebur. People like me a lot better now that I’m a ghost.”

“I liked Alivebur.”

“I blew up l’Manburg.”

“I know. I was there.”

Ghostbur is now sufficiently confused, but he isn’t going to spend time trying to get Tommy to hate him. He is _trying_ to get everyone to like him, which proves difficult.

“Do you want to feed Friend?” he asks Tommy. Friend makes people smile.

Tommy sighs. “Sure,” he says.

* * *

The SMP is a complicated place. Ghostbur had spent some time in Logstedshire helping Tommy build, and when he returned to l’Manburg, everything was different. Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy, and a strange new man he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting had set up signs asking for Technoblade, “Dead or Alive.” “You can’t have talk with Techno if he’s dead,” he said, and they exchanged looks. It must’ve been an inside joke he missed out on. No one laughed, though. They were all angry and sad, and wouldn’t use any of the Blue he gave them.

Point is, things change rather quickly, and it’s hard to keep up.

He picks up the pieces when he finds them, though. Despite its complexities, the SMP has one constant: there are good guys, and there are bad guys.

Like Eret. He’s a bad guy, a wrongin, a bastard traitor. Alivebur, too. Rotten to the core, says the history books, and Schlatt, though Ghostbur isn’t sure if the books are right, because all _he_ remembers of Schlatt is walking up and down the path, making silly jokes and looking out his window over a landscape whose shape feels nostalgic now.

Everyone’s either a good guy or a bad guy. It might take some time for Ghostbur to figure out which is which, but he’s got time-a-plenty now that he’s dead.

Dream seems to be one of those wrongins.

“Fuck! Wil—Ghostbur? He, he can’t see me. I’ve got to— let’s see,” Tommy stops to root through the chests, “Where is he?”

“Dream? He’s at the tree line. Oh, dear. Techno told me he’s homeless, and it’s so cold outside. I should invite him in.”

“Where the hell are the pots? Ghostbur, you can’t tell him about me. I’m gonna hide, and—shit! Have you got an invis pot?”

“Techno doesn’t have the ingredients?”

Tommy gulps a potion and vanished. “I don’t have time to—”

_Knock knock knock._

“Oh, that must be him.”

“Stop _talking to me_ ,” Tommy yell-whispers as he dives into a box in the corner of the room.

 _Knock knock knock knock_.

Ghostbur opens the door. “Hello!”

Dream walks in without invitation, understandably so. Ghostbur is happy to shut the door behind him.

“Hello,” Dream says. His voice breaks and scratches.

“Techno isn’t here right now. Just me and—me.” Tommy’s breathing is irregular. He goes silent, and then takes several short breaths. Ghostbur wishes he could give him some Blue.

“That’s perfect. I wanted to,” Dream stops, his mask making his expression unreadable. “To talk with you.”

“Oh?”

“How up to date are you on the news in the Dream SMP?” He asks.

“I’ve been here. By myself.” Ghostbur throws a Blue on the floor and picks it back up. It doesn’t help.

“You understand I have an interest in keeping the peace. The peace your little stunt on the sixteenth disrupted.”

“Alivebur did that. And,” Ghostbur pauses to recall from the books, “You asked me to.”

Dream folds his arms. “Of course. It was a tough situation. I _imagined_ a different outcome, one where l’Manburg was gone, wiped from the records. Permanently. It disrupts the peace.”

“Gone?” He throws some more Blue.

“You agree, don’t you?”

“I, um. I’m dead, and when you’re dead, politics isn’t very interesting. So I don’t much care. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Techno?”

“We have already spoken,” Dream bites, and raises his hand to his mask. He snaps his head upright with an epiphany. “Has he told you anything of Theseus?”

Ghostbur shakes his head, perhaps a bit more than necessary.

“Theseus was a hero, at least to some. He slayed the Minotaur, the evil creature plaguing the town. Techno finds him very interesting, because although Theseus saved the town, this town exiled him and sent him to die. Do you remember?”

“I wasn’t there for that, I don’t think.” Ghostbur has spoken to them separately about Theseus, but he doesn’t remember anything about an exile.

“Hmm. Yes. But that’s not the most interesting part to me. There is another character. Ariadne. She cared for Theseus very much. Without her, Theseus could never have slayed the Minotaur. Their loyalty was heralded as stronger than anything. Want to know how Theseus returned the favor?”

“How?”

“He abandoned her. On a little island in the middle of the night.”

Ghostbur frowns. “There must be a reason he did that, um, that he was busy, or in a hurry.”

“You’d think.” Dream opens a window and leans out to look at the sky. “No. Theseus abandoned Ariadne because he wanted to be a hero. And heroes don’t retire. So long as they’re alive, or, I guess, around, they will try to _save the world_ , even if the Minotaur has already been slayed.”

Ghostbur is certain Dream is trying to make an allegory of some sort, but he was never good at English. “Do you need something?” he asks politely.

“Let’s go outside for a minute. I have something to show you.”

Ghostbur looks at the box, then back at Dream. This whole situation puts him on edge, and he wants Dream gone.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Ghostbur follows Dream to his house next to the cabin. “Go in,” Dream says.

He opens the door and floats in, happy to be out of the cold. “Ooo! I love this picture.” He floats to the framed picture of him and the original l’Manburgians, in their revolutionary outfits.

“Notice anything?” Dream asks.

Ghostbur whirls around and holds his hands tightly together to his chest. “The, uh. Hmm.”

Dream walks to the pen. The hay is there, the fence is closed, the, um.

Oh.

“Friend?” he whispers.

“Let’s go back inside,” Dream says neutrally.

“Where’s Friend?”

“Follow me.”

“ _Where is Friend?_ ”

Through gritted teeth, Dream says, “Friend is fine. Follow me.”

Ghostbur throws all the Blue he has out, but before he picks it back up, Dream snatches it from him. “Come. On.”

Dream marches to the cabin, making footprints in the shape of boots. “My Blue,” Ghostbur mumbles, and follows.

Dream throws the door open, and Ghostburs floats inside behind him. “Tommy hasn’t fled yet, has he?” Silence. Then, to the wind, “I assume you made more invis pots while we were gone. I have a milk bucket for you.” Still, silence. Did he leave? “I won’t hurt you. I’ll even let you stay with Techno. You might learn a thing or two from him.”

After a moment, the box opens and foggy wisps float to Dream. “I’m here, you bastard.”

Dream hands the wisps milk, and as the milk vanishes, Tommy appears. “One of two things is going to happen, and the choice is yours, Tommy. Either you stay here with Techno and Ghostbur comes with me, or you come with me and take Ghostbur’s place.”

“You fuckin’—” Dream equips his sword, ending Tommy’s rant. “What will happen to the one that goes with you.”

“Depends.”

“On what.”

“Which option you choose. You drive the story, Tommy.”

“What will happen to Friend?” Ghostbur asks.

Dream sighs. “Friend will be safe, no matter what.”

Tommy turns to face the wall. “If I stay here, what will happen to Ghostbur?”

“I have some things to discuss with Ghostbur. Difficult conversations to have, and to be honest I am not sure how he will take the things I have to say. When we are finished, I’ll let him go.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“That’s up to him.”

“I want to go. Tommy is needed here,” Ghostbur says.

“That,” Dream stares him down, “is not up to you. I want to know if Tommy really is the Theseus of the world. Will you sacrifice your brother, just to keep being a hero to a world that doesn’t want nor need you in it?”

Tommy rubs his forehead. “No, no, that’s all wrong. I need to help Techno.”

“Techno,” Dream snorts. “Techno is a piece of fucking work himself. Enough complexes stored in him to fuel a whole epic.”

“You leave them alone,” Tommy says, turning to face Dream. He straightens up, and seems to grow a few inches.

“So you’ll be following?”

“I,” he pauses, “Ghostbur, you, you understand—”

“Dream is one of those wrongins, Tommy. Don’t listen to wrongins. I’ll be fine.” He smiles.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you. I’m not Theseus. I’m not. I’m good.”

Ghostbur reaches to hold Tommy, and he can’t. He passes right through him. He stares at Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re the best.”

Tommy nods.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Oh, fuck you, man.”

“I just need clarity.”

“Ghostbur. Take Ghostbur. But if you touch a hair on his head, I swear to God I will end your entire existence. Techno will, too, and Phil. We’ll hunt you down and kill you so fucking dead your ghost goes directly from hell to Satan’s fucking cock and you’ll be his bitch for the rest of forever.”

Dream turns to Ghostbur. “Ready to go?”

“Can I have my Blue?”

“No,” Dream says.

Ghostbur sighs and resolves to picking some blue flowers on the way to wherever Dream wants him to be. “I’m ready.”

* * *

They take the long way, which Ghostbur doesn’t realize _is_ the long way until they are at shore, a few miles from l’Manburg. The air tastes sharp and warm, the forests thin and rivers dark. Ghostbur doesn’t feel like talking, so he doesn’t ask why they are here or where they are going.

They pass l’Manburg and walk up the stairs. They pass the old embassy, Tommy’s house, and turn to Skeppy’s mansion. Ghostbur doesn’t remember ever speaking to Skeppy, and he seems like a bit of a wild card, but honestly it was better than he expected.

They get to the front gates, but instead of entering, Dream starts walking to the back. That is when Ghostbur sees it.

He doesn’t know what it is. It is a bigger building than anything he had ever seen, dwarfing the mansion and putting any tower or castle to shame, with black bricks that make it look like a part of the void rose up to the surface to swallow the world in it and lava to assure you that it is real, and not some trick of the eye.

They reach the entrance where a strange man waits, dressed in green and gold and a tool belt full of things Ghostbur had never seen, and a mask and gloves covering every part of him, like he is a robot of wires instead of a person with skin.

“The prison isn’t finished, yet. I haven’t even brought the Elder Guardians, the stasis chamber has some bugs, and the intake process hasn’t been finalized,” the strange man says in a monotone.

“That’s completely fine. He’ll only be here for a few weeks, give or take. This isn’t _the_ prisoner.”

“You understand I can’t guarantee he won’t be able to escape.”

“I can. I have some leverage.”

“Leverage?” Ghostbur asks.

“If you want to see Friend alive and unharmed, you will behave for Sam.” Ghostbusters notes the strange man’s name.

Sounds easy enough. “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. I’m running an experiment. Speaking of which. Sam, I need you to make _sure_ he doesn’t get any of his Blue. Nothing blue in his cell, and don’t give him anything blue. Not a bed, not wool, _especially_ not any dye or flowers. No matter what, or our entire deal is off.”

“Understood. Ghostbur, welcome to Pandora’s Vault.”

* * *

The cell is big. Not as tall as Ghostbur would’ve preferred, but spacious enough to float and fly. There are books, many books, with empty pages to fill with whatever Ghostbur wants. He has a lot of ideas: songs, poems, and stories. A clock is mounted on the wall next to a lectern, and a pool of water Ghostbur has elected to ignore.

It is hot. Not sauna hot, just very, very warm. A pleasant summer’s day.

The potatoes he gets don’t sit well. He feels a bit nauseous, and he supposes he doesn’t _need_ to eat, but just because death won’t take doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

He gets a bit lonely. Sam doesn’t speak to him, except to instruct him to stand behind the barrier for meal times, even if Ghostbur asks a question. He’s used to loneliness, though. It is a bit of a comforting feeling.

* * *

The sadness doesn’t go away. It should’ve by now, he thinks.

“Friend is fine,” he says to the books.

“I didn’t abandon Tommy.”

“He didn’t abandon me.”

“Was everything always this sad?”

“Did it always hurt?”

It does hurt. In his stomach. He can’t keep food down.

It is hot. Very, very hot. Like a frog sitting in a pot, as the flames slowly, imperceptibly grow hotter. He doesn’t notice his mind cooking.

* * *

He won’t eat today, he decides. He will throw the potatoes in the lava.

“Stand behind the barrier.”

Ghostbur follows the instruction.

Sam says something else, quieter. The lava starts to recede.

“Dream?”

Dream walks along the floating path to Ghostbur’s cell. “Hello,” he says in his amicable tone.

Ghostbur remembers not to trust that tone.

The barrier drops and Dream walks inside as the lava drops behind him. “How was your first week?”

Ghostbur hadn’t kept track of time. He was so used to time being something other people experienced and he skipped through like a field of dandelions that he didn’t bother with it now that he was trapped.

“Good,” he says.

Dream thumbs through his books, which remain empty. “Hmm.”

Ghostbur floats in circles on the far side of the cell. Dream is watching him, he can tell.

“How does it feel, not having your Blue?”

“Strange. Bad.”

Dream props his hand against the wall for support, and retracts it when it starts to burn through the gloves. “I feel like I’ve made you upset.”

Ghostbur didn’t know what to say to that.

“I want to help. Really. I know it’s hard to see the big picture, especially with your memories confused and disheveled, but everything I’ve done has been for the good of the server.”

 _Fair enough_. He would be the first to admit that he isn’t the best judge of character. “Why am I here,” he asks, without the pitch of a question.

“I believe that if you go a while without your Blue, you can gain your memories back.”

“I don’t want my memories. Alivebur was a, a _terrible_ person. The worst in the world. I don’t want to remember what he did.”

“What _you_ did.”

“I’m Ghostbur. I’m good.”

“And he was bad.”

“Yes. The worst,” he reiterates.

“How do you know?” Dream asks.

“He destroyed a country.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Ghostbur stops. Why did _he_ destroy it? He thinks back to what he remembers, the speech to Philza before his death. “If I can’t have this, no one can. That’s what I— _he_ said.”

“Seems pretty selfish,” Dream says with humor.

“Alivebur was selfish.”

“I knew Alivebur. He would die to keep l’Manburg safe, and in some ways, he did. Doesn’t sound selfish to me.”

Ghostbur folds his hands together and looks at the ceiling.

Dream turns to the clock. “I’ll be back in a few days. I expect progress.”

* * *

His arm has a burn that wouldn’t heal from passing out against the wall. He couldn’t run if he wanted to, but for the present he was resigned to laying on the floor on his side, back to the lava.

His eyes keep drifting to the clock. It had been two days since Dream left. He hadn’t eaten a bite.

Sam must be God, or a prophet. Ghostbur remembers the brief period of death that stuck before he was ripped into the living world, and hell doesn’t exist, or so he thought. Only a god could create a hell as realistic as this.

It is _so_ hot. It bakes him, outside-in.

He remembers Tommy, and imagines him on the floor in his place. _Trade me, please,_ he thinks, too weak to speak out loud.

“Stand behind the barrier.”

Ghostbur stays on the ground. It is the first time he breaks a rule.

The lava recedes, and the platform takes Sam across.

Sam stares at the wall. “You are supposed to stand, Ghostbur.”

“Let me out.”

Sam takes out his sword. “Stand.”

“Let me out.”

Sam says nothing.

Ghostbur changes tactic. “Do you have anything Blue? It helps me.”

“I can’t let you out. I signed a contract.”

“All I need is some Blue,” he says. _I used to be better at this._

Sam looks in the opposite direction of Ghostbur.

“I’m so sick. It’s so hot.”

“To discourage prisoners from trying to break the walls.”

“How? How do you stand there and let me—” Let him _what_? He can’t die. He isn’t meant to be here.

“If you don’t stand, I will be forced to use harsher measures.”

Ghostbur remains where he is.

Sam slices his back open with his blade. He doesn’t bleed. He dies, easier than falling to sleep.

He wakes up and the walls push him into the pool of water in the cell. It burns like ice.

The burn on his arm is gone, and he isn’t hungry anymore.

“I want to be alive again,” he says. It is something of a death wish, being alive again.

“Have some potatoes,” Sam says, and tosses a handful of raw potatoes at him. They thud against the floor, and Ghostbur doesn’t pick them up. He stares at them, as if they contain answers to his predicament.

The potatoes start to steam, which isn’t right at all. The room is hot, the floor hotter, but certainly not hot enough to cook potatoes.

He looks up at Sam, and finds a familiar face, with a crown, cape, pale skin, and mask shaped to look like a pig, ornamented with gold, emeralds, and rubies from a far-off land.

He isn’t remembering something. He is _experiencing_ it for the first time.

The walls morph from obsidian to stone, the light from the lava cools to light from a torch, and he finds himself in a homey place deep underground, with high ceilings, dark ledges not yet protected from mobs, and when he looks at his body, he finds it to be slightly tanner (not significantly so; he was always sickly pale) with a long dark coat and white shirt with dark jeans.

It isn’t home. He doesn’t recognize it, not viscerally, but he knows the name.

“Pogtopia,” a voice that isn’t his, Tommy, he realizes, says.

“What?” he asks.

“This place. S’got to have a name.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“Do you want the potatoes?” Technoblade asks, staring at him through dark holes in his mask.

His face softens from a pained frown to a grin, loosing the tension and filling the space with wide-eyed hope. “Yeah. Yes, sorry.” He picks them up. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since I came to this server.”

Tommy laughs. Wilbur—and this was Wilbur, Ghostbur knew, not the shell he is now—gapes at Techno. “You haven’t slept?”

He shrugs. “Revolution waits for no man.”

“You have to take care of yourself. We need you strong if we’re going to have a fighting chance.”

He picks up the steaming potatoes and bites into them, expecting the soft, fluffy, cooked-to-perfection with a bit of seasoning.

The potato is flavorless, room temperature, hard, and chewy. He spits it out on the obsidian floor.

The memory wasn’t all that eventful, but the feelings of the past bled into the present. The confidence, surety that no matter what, he would get back what was his and build a world for the people he loved. Loved. _Love_.

“Hello?” Sam says.

“Sorry, just remembered something. It’s silly,” Ghostbur says in his smiley voice that feels fake now. Dream is horrible, awful, and no doubt manipulating the hell out of him, but he had a point. Ghostbur doesn’t _know_ about Alivebur, and plenty of people, good people, Techno, Tommy, think that Alivebur was _good_ , for a while at least, and he is sure now, that regardless of his actions, Alivebur wanted to do right. Bad people don’t love as hard and as painfully as Alivebur did.

“I hope you’ll feel better tomorrow,” Sam says, and turns to leave. The platform begins to return to this side, and Sam steps to the other side of the barrier.

“Thanks for the potatoes.” Ghostbur spins around, the phantom breeze of an overcoat cooling his legs. He had work to do.

* * *

“Stand behind the barrier.”

The lava recedes. The platform extends.

“How is l’Manburg?” Ghostbur asks. He doesn’t expect a response, and doesn’t receive one. “Oh, sorry, I forget you don’t talk much.”

Sam doesn’t make eye contact as he conducts his daily check of the cell.

“I wrote a letter to Dream. Are you allowed to deliver it to him?” Subordinating Sam to Dream. Sam doesn’t take orders from anyone. He’s the Warden, the leader, the sword of justice, not a goddamn merc.

“Let me see it,” Sam says.

Ghostbur tosses the book to him.

Sam reads it over. It’s a formal request for Dream to visit, announcing his progress with his memory. Just two pages long. Simple, friendly, with no details included, to perk curiosity.

“I’ll pass it along, since you are on good behavior today.” He pockets the book and hands him some potatoes. Cooked potatoes, Ghostbur notices, and scoffs them down embarrassingly fast.

“Thank you, Sam!”

* * *

“Stand behind the barrier.”

Ghostbur complies, and crosses his fingers behind his back.

“Hello,” says the familiar voice, through the receding lava.

“Hello, Dream,” Ghostbur says.

“Tell me about the memory,” he says, walking across the platform.

“Sure!” he says with spirit, “One thing, though. Quid pro quo.”

Dream says nothing, but raises his head and crosses his arms as he steps off the platform.

He speaks with a cheery tone. “I’m the comic relief. The amnesiac ghost, pumped full of dramatic irony, meant to never understand what is going on around me. My closest friends hardly notice when I’m gone, because they forget that I didn’t disappear on the sixteenth.” Creating weakness, to get Dream to let his guard down, but more importantly to make him seem desperate. “Why spend all this time on me?”

Dream stops to consider Ghostbur’s offer. “I want your partnership. I can’t say why yet, but to pull it off I need allies.”

“Partnership?” Ghostbur smiles, injecting sweetness into it. “I look forward to it. I would shake your hand, but—” He gives himself a onceover.

Dream laughs. “That’s okay. Now, tell me about this memory.”

 _Partnership_.

He has no idea, does he? That he is messing with a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -memory loss  
> -canon character death  
> -self-hatred  
> -non-descript anxiety and ptsd  
> -canon-typical manipulation  
> -abandonment  
> -implied animal death  
> -implied drug use  
> -implied drug addiction  
> -imprisonment  
> -starvation  
> -isolation  
> -sickness  
> -implied suicidality
> 
> This is a story about healing. Please don’t hurt yourself reading it <3


	2. They Never Liked You Anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings at the end.

The history books paint a simple picture of Alivebur: a power-hungry control freak, the president driven mad by his perfect image of the world, one that could never be realized. Ghostbur doesn’t see any of that in himself, any at all. It doesn’t help that they go from praising his accomplishments: his beautiful nation, winning a war against the powerful tyrant, _et cetera_ … to calling him insane. Insane men don’t build nations. They don’t make good generals, good writers. They can’t inspire a public. And Ghostbur _knows_ that everything in the books is true, so they must be missing a piece. Several pieces in fact.

Good thing Dream decided to help him out, even if the process is difficult.

Ghostbur paces his cell—well, floats back and forth from wall to wall to lava wall to wall. The movement keeps him in his head, where the answers lie.

He’s thinking about Dream, about opportunities, and trying not to think about how stuck he is when he turns around and comes face-to-face with Tommy.

He’s sick to his stomach, the kind of hurt that comes after a strenuous workout.

“Wilbur, I could’ve taken my shot,” Tommy says, disappointed and frustrated.

A wave of nausea comes over him. He stumbles into a tree and grabs the bark for support. “Killing Schlatt wouldn’t solve a thing.” His eyes blur, and when he turns around, he can’t make out the details in Tommy’s face. “Tommy, are we the bad guys?”

“What?”

“Think about it. This festival, it’s a good idea, isn’t it?” Wilbur pictures it, his friends and enemies, Tubbo, Schlatt, Technoblade, Quackity, all laughing and celebrating, sparing, singing and dancing in l’Manburg—Manburg, he corrects, and he and Tommy on the other side of the fence delineating their exile.

“Well, yeah, I suppose.”

“We were tyrants. Schlatt’s right, we were _dictators_ calling ourselves presidents. And he won the election—with a coalition government that _we allowed_ ,” he says, trying to picture the moment he said that, and coming up blank, “Tommy, I think we’re the bad guys, but I don’t think that’s a _bad thing_.”

“No, no, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Tommy, look at me,” he says, and Tommy stares up at him. “Am I the villain of this story?”

“No!” Fear. Pure fear and desperation.

“Why not? Why can’t I be the villain in your history?”

Tommy was stunned into silence.

And Wilbur?

Wilbur was _right_.

“Wrong!” Ghostbur is back, screaming as hard as his frayed vocal cords would allow. “I was— _you_ were wrong!”

Bad people, like Alivebur, are bad because they do wrong things. But what does it mean to be wrong? Because Alivebur _was_ right, maybe not about Schlatt, but Ghostbur knows that Tommy is hurting now, because of l’Manburg, because he doesn’t have a home anymore, and Techno is hurt too, divided in two between the people he loves and the choices he _knows_ are right. But what does it mean to be right?

A circle. A contradiction.

He breathes deeply, though the air is too hot for it to feel like he isn’t suffocating. 

He swears someone else breathes with him.

“Who the fuck are you?” A voice that sounds almost like him, _uncannily_ like him, speaks from above and throws Ghostbur out of his spiral.

“Wha—I’m Ghostbur!”

“You, what, where—oohhhh, no. Oh, fuck no. You moth-er-fuck-er,” the voice says, emphasis on every syllable.

“Who are you?” Ghostbur asks.

“You’ve been talking to Dream, haven’t you?” the voice says, not answering his question.

“Why?”

“You _cannot_ keep talking to Dream.”

“I have to. He locked me in this prison.” Ghostbur floats in a little circle in his cell.

“What did you even _do_? You shouldn't be able to talk to us.”

“Us?”

“Ey! I need your help!”

What?

“Glatt!” Another voice, American, if Ghostbur is correct, speaks.

“Would you stop saying that?” the British voice laughs, a warm, echo-y sound, “And give me that!” The British voice snatches something from the American voice. “Listen, the ghost found a way to start talking to us. Beats me how, last I checked he was floating around the middle of nowhere talking to sheep, but I have a feeling Dream’s got something to do with it.”

“Ghostbur? You mean— _urp_ —you mean the fucking—oop. Can’t say that. The cute little gay version of you. Can I say that?”

“ _No!_ ”

“Look, what’oes this have to do with me? You seem to be— _urp_ —freaking out. And this is good, right?”

Ghostbur pipes up. “What is good?”

“Dream is going to try to revive me,” the British voice says.

“Revive you?”

“Yes, me. Wilbur Soot.”

“I’m Wilbur. Sort of.”

“Confusing, isn’t it,” voice-Wilbur says, sounding quite bored. “We’re both Wilbur. Not split in two, or anything. Carbon copies of Wilbur, at time of death, except you’ve been using so much Blue that your brain has turned to mush. Though I suppose it always was a bit mushy up there...”

“Not anymore. Haven’t had any Blue in,” Ghostbur looks at the clock, “Three weeks. Aren’t you happy to be getting revived?”

Voice-Wilbur, Ghostbur decides to call him Soulbur, sighs. “It’s not that. Do you know how fucking tiring it is? Living? Going in circles day after day, doing the same things over and over, and then _bam_! The worst thing imaginable takes steroids and ruins your life, no offense—”

“None taken!” says the American.

“—and now you’ve got to make _choices_ and consider _morality_. It’s fucking exhausting!”

Circles and contradictions. Ghostbur nods. “But Tommy needs us. L’Manburg needs us. My very existence is a Chekov’s Gun.”

“You remember that?” Soulbur asks.

“Remember what? A Chekov’s Gun is just the literary thing. If a gun is mounted on the wall, sooner or later it’s getting fired. Well, I’m still here! And you’re here too! Must be a reason! You can’t just shirk out on your responsibilities!”

“To what?”

Ghostbur rubs his hand against his chest. He closes his eyes. “You know what your responsibilities are. You’re just scared.”

“Uuuugh.” Soulbur pauses. “Well, I can’t stop you. I’m gonna give you a bit of advice before I go back to Purgatory. Do you remember what happened the last time you sided with Dream?”

“Not really, not yet.”

“But you know the outcome?”

“Of course. We blew up l’Manburg. Best day of our lives.”

“No. It was cowardly. We gave up on Tommy, on Techno. On having a life as a family. On the _possibility_ of the utopia we dreamed of, _even if_ it was an impossible dream. We refused to choose between morals and people, and destroyed them both. You’re right! You’re right,” he repeats, calmer, “We were scared.”

“Well what do I do? Should I listen to Dream? Come back to life? Run off with our family into the wilderness and never come back? Help Techno and Phil? What? _What_?”

“Any. All. Any choice, so long as you make a choice. You don’t _have_ to choose between morals and people, but you can’t choose neither. Not again.”

Ghostbur didn’t understand. He wasn’t frolicking in the fields anymore; he was involved, and he _still_ didn’t understand. “I’m confused.”

“We always were. Don’t worry about it too much. Your instincts know what to do.”

“They didn’t when we destroyed l’Manburg.”

“They did. It hurt, remember?”

“It must have! Standing so close to an explosion.”

Soulbur sighs in the way people do when Ghostbur misses something.

“Will I see you again?” he asks Soulbur.

“Sadly, I believe yes,” Soulbur answeres fondly, “Until then.”

“Bye!” he smiles at the air.

“Glatt!” The American says. Wait, Schlatt! He remembers that voice now.

The voices are gone.

* * *

“Stand behind the barrier.”

Dream isn’t there. Thank God, Ghostbur is far too tired to talk with Dream just yet.

“Who is your allegiance to?” Ghostbur asks, bluntly but with life.

“No one. My allegiance is to this prison, to maintaining its order,” Sam replies.

“Why have you chosen this prison?”

Sam pauses. He knows the answer; he’s only debating whether to answer Ghostbur, weighing the dangers. “Death isn’t a scary prospect to some people. For whatever reason.”

“It’s actually quite nice, death is. I’d do it again!”

“Hmm. Justice isn’t held true with kindness. Everyone needs to be afraid of something.”

“Else another Alivebur comes along.”

“Right,” Sam says, neither here nor there.

Ghostbur pauses. “What about friends? Family?”

“None.”

“And Dream?”

“A means to an end.”

“The end being,” he stops to think, “justice.”

“Exactly.”

“Must be nice,” Ghostbur says with honesty, but for the purpose of stunning him.

It works. “Hmm,” Sam says again.

“Am I allowed visitors?”

Pause. “I would have to ask Dream.”

“I would prefer if Dream didn’t find out about this.”

“I don’t care. If you get a visitor, Dream knows about them.”

Okay, that’s not great. Ghostbur clutches his hands to his chest. “Do you know where Tommy is?”

“No.”

“Technoblade?”

“Not at the moment.”

 _Shit_. “Philza?”

Pause. “If you get a visitor, Dream will hold you for longer. He wants loyalty.”

“You know where Phil is?”

“You are _days_ away from being free. Talk to him when you are out. I want you out of my prison.”

“Okay. Fine. One request, though. Dream won’t find out about it.”

Sam crosses his arms.

“Go to Philza. Tell him I sent you, and that,” he searches his memory, “Antarctica needs its prince. He should know what that means.” He _might_ know what that means. It isn’t a code phrase, just coded to be something that Ghostbur would know about, and Dream wouldn’t. “Ask for Tommy. Please, just, tell him that I’m coming back, that I’m safe.”

“I will consider it.”

“Thank you.”

Ghostbur takes his food and Sam leaves.

* * *

The next day, when Sam comes to bring Ghostbur his food, he says, “I told him. What you said.”

Ghostbur rubs his forehead. “That’s nice of you.” He meant it kindly, but he thinks it comes across rude.

“He’s excited to see you. He was worried.”

It sounds judgmental, but Ghostbur can’t think of what he did wrong. He still feels bad though, regretful. “Anything else?” he asks.

“Nothing. Please, for him, do what Dream says.”

“Of course.”

Sam hands him the potatoes and leaves.

Regret was the subject of the day. It makes him sicker than the heat, than the horrible prison food. He wants to throw up, to cleanse his inside of the feeling with poison, but it would do no good.

He has a lot to regret. Memories are coming back smoother now, not in flashbacks, but in small bits of information he doesn’t remember learning, and in feelings. Regret for the things he remembers and the worse things he doesn’t, but also this permanent state of flashback. The desperation and anger sits with him in a pit, petrol and a lighter side-by-side in his stomach. No wonder he was so sick.

“I was supposed to help him,” he says to himself. The first time he refers to Alivebur in the first-person. The more he remembers, the more he comes to know that he was always the same person. Alivebur, Soulbur, Ghostbur himself, they’re all Wilbur. The same heart.

“I hurt him. _I_ did. God only knows what Dream is doing to him now, or Techno. Phil’s not gonna be there to help. He has no one but me and I don’t deserve to care about him.”

Fuck. Fuck this self-pitying bullshit. He’s going to remember what he did.

* * *

The first to come back is Pogtopia.

He can barely make out the faces of anyone, except his own reflection. The only thing that existed was what he needed to do. Destroy l’Manburg. Win.

The Blue took the look in Philza’s eyes when he killed Alivebur. He knows now. Disgust. Disgust is reserved for distance. It’s a simple feeling, for people you don’t _know_ but you know you hate.

He feels how it hurts. He recalls what Soulbur said about instincts, and it’s true. It hurt, but he did it anyway. Why would he do something that hurts, just to hurt other people? What good could come of that?

He knows why— _understands_ why l’Manburg had to be destroyed. But he knows why it was wrong, too.

* * *

He remembers his time as general in full. The hope dying in him as Punz killed him and he felt Death for the first time. Watching his brother fight in a duel he was too hopeless to fight himself. Seeing him die, his body briefly lying in the water before evaporating as Tommy felt Death for the second time in a day.

When Alivebur told Tommy that he would never be president, he was _lying_. He will make a great leader one day, when he is old enough to create pride in others the way Ghostbur feels pride in him now.

Memories, even sad ones, aren’t all bad.

* * *

And earlier.

“Why there?” he asks Techno.

“Antarctica is completely uncharted, with very little natural resources. We can easily take over the world. _Easily_.”

“No question,” Philza interjects.

“But to take over the hearts of men, to crush their spirits, we need to prove that we are the strongest on the server. Not because of any advantages, _in spite of_ the disadvantages. We will conquer the world,” Techno says, a lilt in his voice. Excitement.

“We could connect the world. Build bridges, roads. An economy,” Wilbur says, “Embrace the individuality of every country and unify them under the banner of peace. Violence isn’t the only answer.”

“Oh, Wilbur,” Philza laughs, “Always the utopian. So you aren’t joining us?”

Wilbur looks between his father and his brother in horror. He swallows and looks down. “No. You can find me in Newfoundland.”

"Hopefully not too soon," Techno laughs. Wilbur does not.

He remembers raising Tommy, age fifteen at the time, to use his words to solve conflict, to never raise the weapons Techno taught him to use so well. Taught him the merits of believing in the unachievable dreams they had at night. They grew close, and Wilbur grew resentful.

* * *

And earlier.

Their mother was _not_ , as Phil seems to joke about, a Samsung Smart Refrigerator. As far as Ghostbur is concerned, he has no mother, and he never needed one.

His childhood was happy. Peaceful. Simple. Phil adopted him when he was a child, just as he adopted Techno, and Tommy a few years later. None of them know their exact ages, and they used to joke about Techno and Will being twins. Based on their development, Techno is older, but Phil says that with boys it is hard to tell.

Still, Will clearly regarded Techno as an older sibling. They would argue about anything. As a teenager Will created this game where he would see how long it would take to launch Techno on a rant about whatever he was studying. He would argue positions he didn’t even believe in if it meant riling up his brother, and it worked like a charm every time.

He and Tommy were close, but Tommy didn’t _idolize_ him the way he did Technoblade. Techno taught him to fight, something Will was never interested in personally. While they took up the blade, Will studied the arts: books, and songs. He listened to old discs with Tommy sometimes, and learned music from them.

See, happy? It only hurts with hindsight.

* * *

And, fuck, does it hurt. But he gets by. Processes it. Tries to figure out how he feels, how he _should_ feel. Fails.

* * *

“Stand behind the barrier.”

Dream stands on the other side, his walk steady and body language as expressionless as his mask. It has been about a week since Ghostbur last saw Dream, and a day short of four weeks of being in prison.

“Hello,” Dream says.

“Hi!”

“I would hate to be in here. I honestly would rather be dead, which I guess makes it effective. I know how that sounds, and I’m not trying to be, well, a dick. I have this huge painting in my head, _huge_ , and everyone’s standing so close. They can’t see it like I can, and I get that it can be hard.”

“Sure,” Ghostbur says.

“I only tell you this to say, as sympathetically as possible, that I enjoy our visits. How much news have you been getting?”

“None,” Ghostbur says, and chooses not to point out that he isn’t allowed visitors, and Sam isn’t supposed to talk to him.

“Well, let’s just say that I am busy. Very, _very_ , busy. Lots of pieces need moving around. Lots going on in the coming days. I wouldn’t be surprised if you came right back here in a few days.”

“Sorry?” he says, looking for an explanation. Whatever Dream means, it isn’t good. Dream is, above all, a wrongin.

“By now you should’ve recovered your memories?”

Ghostbur raises an eyebrow. “I have,” he says.

“Then, I believe you’ve done your time.”

“Oh,” he says, “Well, then.”

Dream turns his head to the side and shouts for Sam.

The lava falls. “We’ll take the easy exit,” Sam says, “Stand _in front of_ the barrier.”

Ghostbur smiles and nods, floating over the netherite blocks embedded in the floor. The path extends, and Ghostbur floats onto it, side-by-side with Dream.

* * *

The first thing that hits him is the sky. Maybe it’s the blue in it—old habits die hard, he supposes—as the prison truly had nothing blue in it. The lava had oranges, yellows, and reds, and Dream and Sam covered green. The obsidian had its tints of purple. No blue, though. He doesn’t even miss the Blue, his Blue—in fact he finds the old Ghostbur annoying and childish and stupid, but he does miss the sky.

“Are we parting ways?” he asks Dream.

Dream turns to face the prison, and looks up to admire its scale. “For now, yes. The offer of partnership remains true. You have no obligation to accept, of course. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a favor for helping you.”

“One last thing. Where could I find Technoblade and Tommy?”

“Still in their arctic home. Though if I recall correctly, there is a festival in l’Manburg today. I wouldn’t want to miss it. You might find them there?”

 _You fucker. You motherfucker._ Whose idea was it to have a fucking festival? God, it’s like they _want_ the country to be blown to bits. And he was _sure_ that it was a coincidence that he was released on the same day.

“Thanks for the direction. Will you be there?”

Dream laughs. “I don’t think I’m welcome.” He pulls out his trident and a water bucket and flies away.

Ghostbur knows he’s a manipulative bastard, but guess what? He didn’t come out the womb a skilled manipulator. It was taught. He’s familiar with the feeling, like an itch under the eyes and a tremor in the hands, and once he knew the feeling, he learned to dread it, because he knew how it turned out. Every goddamn time.

He’s restless. The only way to fix it is to go to the festival. Exactly where Dream wants him. _Fuck._

He walks down the prime path towards l’Manburg, but stops once the community house comes into view. Or, what’s left of it, he should say.

The community house held no sentimental value in Ghostbur’s dead heart. It was just odd that it was like this. He had said it before, the SMP changes faster than the tides.

He wades through the walls of water and continues down the path to l’Manburg.

Ghostbur is once again stopped on the path when he sees Tubbo and his cabinet gathered in front of Dream. Ghostbur works into the circle and listens in. No one acknowledges his presence.

“Tommy really fucked up this time,” Dream says. Ghostbur feels sick.

After some explanation, Dream leads them away from l’Manburg, and as the remains of the community house appear over the horizon, Ghostbur realizes what is happening.

“Look around you! Look at what Tommy did!”

Ghostbur waits for Tubbo to deny it, to defend his best friend.

How quick the SMP changes.

“He’s doing this for the discs,” Dream declares, “He won’t stop, he’ll continue his tirade, his _tantrum_ until he has them.”

Tubbo looks around at his cabinet, then back at Dream. “What are you asking, Dream?”

“Give me the disc.”

“No!” Tommy jumps down from one of the waterfalls. “Tubbo, you absolutely cannot give him the disc.”

“Tommy?” Tubbo says.

“Tommy, please,” Techno says as he, too, jumps down into the middle of the ruins. He holds his crossbow behind a shield, and turns left and right at the enemies surrounding them.

“Tommy!” Ghostbur says, and flings himself at Tommy, arms out for a hug. He phases through him. “Oh, right. Ha! Tommy! I’m so excited to see you, and look at all the people here. Techno, Tubbo, Fundy! How long’s it been?”

“Ghostbur, this is not a good time,” Techno says.

No, it’s a perfect time. Dream expects bubbly Ghostbur to be here, to do _something_ , but he won’t expect the ghost of the man who created and destroyed the strongest nation to exist on the server. He has to do something to stop this. Whatever _this_ is.

“Why not?” he asks.

“We’re sort of in the middle of something,” Techno says.

“Tubbo, you cannot give Dream the disc,” Tommy repeats.

“You have to. All this conflict, all this destruction, is because of Tommy. As long as you have that disc, he will continue to fuck things up for you.” Dream stands back and crosses his arms.

“This is, it’s _awful_ , what you’ve done, Tommy.”

“I didn’t do anything! You seriously believe, after everything we’ve been through, that I would do this?”

“You did it before, didn’t you? Burned George’s house down with no concern for your responsibility to your friends?”

And like that, they are off. Their friendship was always magnetic, and it seems their status as enemies is no different. They are locked onto each other in a shouting match, throwing the most hurtful phrases they could.

“Is that an axe? Are you, are you _threatening_ me, Tubbo?”

Tommy pulls out his axe, and from the markings Ghostbur knows it is the Axe of Peace. Tubbo equips his shield.

“Stop, stop!” Ghostbur shouts and steps in-between them, palms facing each boy.

“No, this is between us,” Tommy says.

“No! No, I know I’m a ghost, and it’s easy to look right through me, but for once listen to me!”

Tommy blinks, and lowers his axe and steps out of a fighting stance. Tubbo follows.

Ok, think. Now what? Bubbly Ghostbur, right? Except no one listens to silly little Ghostbur. They pity him, and try to shield him from the cruel, cruel world.

Oh, no. Damn it, that would work.

“You wouldn’t fight Tubbo, would you? That’s not the Tommy I know. You were best friends, right? I know,” he sighs, inflecting his tone with exhaustion, “I know I was in prison for a long time, and in there everything is simple and out here is complicated, but the one thing, the _one thing_ that was always the same, was you and Tubbo.”

“He exiled me.”

“Because of Dream! Dream is your enemy,” he says, turning to Tubbo, who—

“Tubbo, no!”

As Ghostbur talked Tommy down, it gave Tubbo the second he needed to get the disc from the ender chest. Tommy lunged at Tubbo, phasing through Ghostbur, but it was too late.

Dream had the disc. Dream had _both_ discs.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” Tommy laughs. “No, you aren’t sorry, but you will be.”

Tommy grabs his axe and knocks Tubbo off his feet. He holds the blade to Tubbo’s neck. One swing from the Axe of Peace would kill him.

“That disc was, it was everything!” he says.

“And me?” Tubbo says.

Tommy’s lip twitches. Ghostbur looks to Techno for guidance, but he just looks proudly at his apprentice.

“You,” Tommy pauses, and drops the axe to his side. “You, you’re my _friend_?” he says, a question. He doesn’t know the answer. He is lost. Ghostbur’s brother is _lost_.

Tubbo gives a nervous laugh. “Always have been. I’m, I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m sorry for exiling you, I’m sorry I didn’t visit, I was just so worried for my country, so worried that any move I made would destroy it. I’m sorry that—”

Tommy holds out his left hand. Tubbo grabs it and is pulled on his feet and into a hug.

They laugh. Tommy cries, just a bit, into his _friend’s_ shoulder.

“Tommy? What are you doing, Tommy?” Techno says, as non-threatening as _The Blade_ can be.

 _Fuck_. Ghostbur knows how sensitive Techno is, underneath it all. Wilbur was always abrasive, loud, and edgy, and Techno was sensitive to that. It caused some tension in their younger years, to say the least.

“Tubbo is my friend. Above everything. I’m sorry if we can’t be friends too.”

“Tommy, perhaps I wasn’t clear.” Threat seeps into his voice. “When I said you could sit out of l’Manburg’s destruction, I didn’t mean you could _side with the enemy_.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Tommy can say.

“Destroy l’Manburg, you said?” Dream asks.

Techno cocks his head and scratches his jaw. “I did.”

“You will not,” Ghostbur says, the bubbly tone vanished.

“I thought you would want l’Manburg gone,” Dream says, “Seeing as you were the one to blow it up first.”

“No, you were the one that destroyed _my country_ first. And I had my reasons. I wouldn’t want to see it gone. Techno?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve forgiven you for a lot of things, dear brother. I won’t forgive this. Don’t you _dare_ abandon Tommy to Dream. How fucking _dare_ you, with what you know about him?”

“This isn’t personal. It’s about governments.”

The _audacity_. “Go home, Techno. We will talk later. Don’t side with this.” He gestures at Dream.

Techno giggles. “You sound like Phil.”

“Is it working?”

He sighs. “Yes. I’ll meet you at my base tomorrow. I’m still tearing this government down.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here, old man.” Ghostbur waves a hand at him.

“We’re the same age!”

“Two minutes can do a lot to you.”

Techno giggles again, and with his trident retreats into the air.

“I guess you won’t be accepting our partnership, then,” Dream says, peering into the ender chest.

“Fuck, no, dude.”

“Not even for this?” He pulls a book out of the chest.

Ghostbur glares at him, waiting for an explanation.

“The resurrection book. My personal grimoire. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Where would I have heard of that?” he asks innocently.

“I was _planning_ on bringing you back so you could be more useful. I think you’ll start to find that being dead comes with more disadvantages than, what, touch-starvation? You’ll be back, and the price will be higher than complacency.”

Sure, he was. Screw it. Call him a hypocrite, Ghostbur wouldn’t allow Dream to destroy the only home he and Tommy ever had. This was different than November sixteenth. It was.

“You’ll be happy to know, Tommy, that Ghostbur has all his memories back,” Dream announces.

“What, how? What the fuck?” Tommy wheezes in fear.

“Yep. Soon, you’ll see. His memory was the only thing separating _him_ and good ole’ Alivebur. Have fun.” Dream tridents away.

After a moment, Ghostbur says, “That’s not true, I’m different.” He can't make eye contact.

Tommy kicks at the ground. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“Shall we go back to l’Manburg?” Tubbo asks.

The cabinet members agree. They leave the ruins, and Ghostbur follows a few strides behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings:  
> -canon-typical suicidal ideation  
> -isolation  
> -self-loathing  
> -death  
> -abandonment  
> -manipulation
> 
> If you need a chapter summary, please ask!

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tiktok @frostedtea . I cosplay and do character analysis and stuff.


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